The next morning came—and the next—but still all was dark and lowering, and still did the wind meet us from the ocean, or—what was equally unfavorable—remain hushed and calm. Day after day thus rolled by and found us quietly resting on the bosom of the waters; each morning hoping that
"The breeze would freshen when the day was done;"
and each evening retiring to rest, anxiously expecting to have our slumbers broken by the heaving up of the anchor.
Each day however, were our hopes disappointed, until the evening of the 24th, when the wind proving favorable, we moved from our station with as much pleasure as would animate the garrison of a besieged fortress, marching out after the departure of the besiegers. Our probation of nine days was succeeded by weather as bright as that had been gloomy. The sky was unclouded—
"The sails were filled, and fair the light winds blew."
The pilot left us; and it was not until this last link which bound us to terra firma was separated, that I could realize to myself, that I was upon the pathless deep; of which I had heard, and read, and dreamed; but never had it entered my dreams, that I was one day to "wend my way" over its billows. The coast of America, rapidly receded from the view; and when I laid my head upon my pillow, I bade
"My native land good night!"
with a heaviness of heart, which I presume there is no one who has not felt, who sees fading from his sight, the land of his birth—the land which contains all for which he cares to live.
There is something indescribable in the feeling of being thus separated as it were, from the rest of the world. It seems as though our ship is of itself, a distinct and independent world, on which we wing our way, with
"All heaven above, all ocean around us;"